Yesterday I  heard the  hunters deep in the forest,  a shot , a thud, a rebel yell. In the wild there is a dead fawn. Its  grieving Doe  bedded nearby   her  eyes a crust  of grief.  We buried her baby under a tall pine tree, wound a broken bough with garlands of  wildflowers.

Last night in a dream they came.  The stench of their  scorn filled the air.  Running until my bare feet bled, they drew back their swords and pierced my heart,   buried me beneath the skins of dead animals.

This morning a sparrow struck my window, its mark formed a teardrop on the pane.  It’s grave is in the shade of the  Hydrangea.

The garden is  in full bloom,  peonies open wide  and  fruit spurs shoot forth  from the apple tree.  At the surface the earth thrives but  deep in shadows the hunters prey, life as insignificant as the tiny sparrow.





A heart beat from ash
her sound  echoes  through
forests across  inundated lands
overflowing with seas
flooding the hillsides and decimated
valleys where wheat once thrived.
She has given her all
her forests are  ravaged their
hollow bones protruding through
blistered  skin.
What is left is raging volcanoes
that she never meant  to spill.
Unwavering crusader
she  reaches out to courage
eyes deep wells of wisdom
at war with apathy.
Bruised from battle forsaken by greed
she pleads  for  you and me
a cry for dignity.


America Last: Under Trump, US Now the Last Holdout from Paris Climate Accord

While celebrated by some members of the Republican Party [7] international reactions to the withdrawal were overwhelmingly negative from across the political spectrum and the decision received substantial criticism from religious organizations, businesses, political leaders of all parties,  environmentalists, and scientists and citizens from the United States and internationally. [8][9][10]


Play it Safe




A young birch sways

like a newborn giraffe

its limbs lean out over

wilted grass and ochre

vines wind a marble sentry

whose eyes never flinch

but guard eternal  while

winter snow stacks on

solitary bones until May

winds stir the crowns of

trees filled with the wails of

wingless birds powerless

to fly on.



powerless birds.png



In the moonlight a shimmer

of anemone flowers wash ashore

settling among pearls of sand.

Gossamer  beams spill down

where there is no need for words below

a sky  of  muted stars  driven to be near


We are the sigh of winds

Echoing  over high cliffs cascading from from  murky walls of caves and back again

Tethered to nothing we are

free of burden,  golden sand enticing the

current through ancient reefs,

released forever back to the sea.


Coral Reef  from Google